


Stars in the Bright Sky

by Lilachigh



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilachigh/pseuds/Lilachigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nearly Christmas and Buffy is determined that Spike will not ruin it for her and her friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

STARS IN THE BRIGHT SKY by Lilachigh

Chapter One: Shut Out

“Who’s that for?” Buffy asked suspiciously. The table was covered with cards and paper, ribbon and glitter. Dawn had decided to tackle all her gift wrapping in one go. The mess was amazing. She was busy wrapping a black T shirt and her sister had a very good idea whose Christmas present that was.

“It’s just a little something for Spike,” Dawn jabbed sticky tape over the paper.

“Dawn, he’s a vampire. I don’t think they do Christmas. Religious festival, peace on earth, goodwill to mankind, remember. Vamps and goodwill – not mixy.”

“He can still have a present,” Dawn said stubbornly. “I don’t expect you to ask him for Christmas dinner. Oh, do you reckon he’ll be on his own?” She looked suddenly anxious.

Buffy pulled a face. The whole gang were coming over on Christmas Day, although she was working right up to midnight on Christmas Eve at the Double Meat. Everyone was bringing something towards the meal so she wouldn’t have to cook and she knew that throwing Spike into the mix would not make for the relaxed, happy time she was expecting.

“No, he’ll probably either go and get very drunk at Willie’s or have Clem round and watch old movies on the TV and get very drunk at home. Like lots of guys at this time of year.”

Dawn looked at her. “You sound so cynical about Christmas. I know it will be sad without Mom, but don’t you enjoy it even a little bit?”

Buffy shrugged. Since their mother had died, Christmas to her was just another holiday to get through. It was all commercial. The adverts kept on and on at you - buy this, eat that, drink, spend, spend, you can’t do without our products. She seemed to walk through the days being pestered on all sides to spend money she hadn’t got. This year there was no cash for presents, especially the sort that Dawn expected. And at her age, even though she knew in her head there was little money in the family, Dawn still believed in her heart that gifts would magically appear from somewhere. Thank heavens Buffy could rely on Willow and Xander giving her something nice.

She stared round the house. They’d made a start at decorating the little tree Dawn had bought, but hadn’t got very far. And all the old room decorations were stored away in boxes in the attic. Buffy didn’t have the energy or inclination to look for them: there were too many memories tied up in that tinsel. The trouble was she felt so tired. The vampire and demon population of Sunnydale obviously didn’t treat Christmas any differently to any other day of the year. If anything, there seemed even more of them at the moment. She’d killed five the night before while she was out on patrol. And when she saw Spike - well, although she didn’t feel tired when they were - well, she would be up front and modern and call it as it was - having sex - she felt exhausted afterwards. Emotionally and physically drained.

Dawn was getting irritated. ”Honestly, Buffy, why don’t you just admit that you wish Christmas was over and done with?”

Buffy tried to pull herself together. There was no reason to ruin Dawn’s Christmas. ”Sorry, sorry. My bad. Let’s finish decorating the tree tonight before I patrol.”

”Oh, I can’t. Janice and her mom are baking Christmas cookies and I said I’d go round and help. I want to do a big box for Willow and Tara. It’ll be cheaper than a real present, won’t it? I’m taking sugar and flour and eggs and the chocolate chips. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

She looked so eager and pleased that Buffy didn’t have the heart to explain that buying all the ingredients and a fancy box to put the cookies in was going to work out more costly than a shop bought gift!

Money, money, money. There it was again. She couldn’t get it out of her head. Why couldn’t she just be pleased that Dawn was trying to help? Willow and Tara had said earlier that they would be late home; they were doing their Christmas shopping that evening. Buffy hadn’t heard from Xander and Anya in a couple of days. Everyone in couples, Buffy thought drearily. She was glad her friends were happy, but sometimes it would be so nice to have another adult to lean on sometimes, to talk to.

Buffy wandered out to patrol, wishing it was January and the New Year. Why on earth did she feel like this, as if she was on the outside of all the jollity, looking in? But at this time of the year it seemed as if everyone in the world was happy except for her.

She jumped as a police car cruised past as she was about to cross the road into the cemetery. Getting run over was not a good plan. It was eerily quiet, the grass soft under her feet. No vampires tonight. That was a plus. Buffy sat down against a tree. Perhaps she’d better check up on what Spike was doing over the holiday. Not that she cared, of course, but she didn’t want Dawn treking round the grave-yard to visit his crypt, trying to make sure that he wouldn’t be on his own.

Obviously she’d have to let her give him his present, otherwise there would be a sulky row and she couldn’t cope with Dawn in a mood at Christmas. Buffy pushed to the back of her mind the little book of English poetry she’d wrapped in brown paper and buried deep inside her underwear drawer. She’d spotted the book in a garage sale one of the Doublemeat girls had given. It was very cheap, of course, she thought swiftly, which was why she’d bought it. She might well keep it for herself. It wasn’t really for anyone.

She absentmindedly staked a vampire who loomed up out of the dark in front of her and crossed the cemetery to Spike’s crypt. She’d just stop by for a few minutes. That was all, she told herself severely. She was going to go home and write Christmas cards. She definitely was not going to spend the evening having sex with a vampire. No!

The heavy wooden door was fast shut. Buffy turned the handle and was brought up short. The door was locked. Locked! Spike never locked the door. What was the point? Who would be stupid enough to steal from a vamp? The only time it was ever locked was when they were both inside, downnstairs in the lower crypt and they were, well, too busy, to be worried about visitors. She felt a shiver run through her, remembering what he did to her, what she did to him. Their bodies, the noise, the glorious, mind bending sensations.... Her body always reacted in the same way, no matter how often she tried to turn off her errant thoughts. Then, suddenly her blood ran cold. So if the door was locked now, did that mean he had someone else in there? Was he with another girl? Were they even now downstairs, making love?

Before she could stop herself, she was thumping on the door, but there was no reply. Puzzled, she walked away a few yards and sat down on a tombstone to wait. Perhaps he was out and he’d locked the door himself for some reason, but she didn’t believe it. She knew, with every spider sense she possessed that Spike was in there. And, every nerve in her body was shouting that he wasn’t alone.

Suddenly, the door creaked open a couple of inches. She leapt up as Spike peered out. ”Spike!”

”Slayer.”

”I was just passing – ”

”And decided to knock my door down.”

She shrugged. ”It was locked. I didn’t want to kick it in.” She moved to go past him and was stunned when he barred her way. ”Let me in.”

”Not tonight, Goldilocks. I’ve got things to do.”

”What?” Buffy couldn’t believe he was turning her away. ”Don’t you want to...”

He grinned at her. ”Oh yes, Slayer. All the time. But can’t tonight. Sorry. Thanks for coming round. See you later.” And he shut the door in her face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Buffy kicked Algernon Baden-Crombie III hard. Well, it was his tombstone actually, so hopefully Algernon wouldn’t mind too much. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so angry. Which was odd because recently, since Willow had brought her back from the dead, she hadn’t felt much of anything at all - happiness, anger, fear, sadness - except when she was with Spike when there was too much feeling and touching and sensation and - and that was the whole problem, of course.

How dare he shut her out! She’d a good mind to go back and kick his silly crypt door into pieces. And she could do it, too. How dare he! ”So what’s he got to hide?” she said out loud, kicking Algernon again. ”I bet it’s something icky and disgusting. How dare he!”

She couldn’t think of any different words and was trying hard to hold onto her anger because underneath that there was a sore, unhappy place. She would never have believed he could shut her out like that. Didn’t he...a very small voice whispered in her head....didn’t he like her any more?

”This is stupid,” she said. ”I’m going home, write my cards, wrap some presents and think happy, Christmassy thoughts. Jingle bells, jingle bells...” she sang bravely and cheerfully until she realised her feet had led her back to Spike’s crypt.

She stood behind a tree, gazing at the door. Whatever he was doing, she had to find out. It was important because...because...she had to keep Sunnydale safe for everyone at Christmas. Even if she didn’t feel Christmassy, others did. And if Spike was up to no good, then it was her job to step in and sort him out. Buffy hugged the excuse close, forcing herself to believe it was the truth. She wouldn’t listen to the voice that kept saying, ‘he’s found someone else...he never really loved you....once he slept with you, that was it....you’re no good in bed....that was all he ever wanted....just sex...and perhaps he’s found someone who’s better at it than you.’

Suddenly the crypt door swung open and Spike stepped out, gazing round, head tilted: she knew he was sniffing the air, making sure there were no enemies around. He’d pick up her scent, but he knew she’d been outside the crypt earlier, so hopefully he would think that was all it was.

He carefully locked the door behind him and set off with his long, loping stride across the cemetery, coat flying. Buffy trailed him, being careful to keep a good distance behind so he didn’t see or sense her.

The streets of Sunnydale were still crowded with late Christmas revellers. Shops were brightly lit, carols were playing and a Santa was ringing a bell, collecting money for charity. A police car cut through the crowds and it was nice to know the law was out keeping order as well as her.

Buffy was desperately trying to keep Spike in sight, but it was difficult, without him spotting her. Then a bunch of laughing people, waving mistletoe at each other, barged into her and when she’d fought her way free, the vampire had vanished.

”Buffy! Hi! Merry Christmas!” It was Xander and Anya, their arms full of parcels and holly. “A joyous pagan sacrificial season to you and yours,” said Anya enthusiastically.

“Oh, yes, and, er, you..Xander, have you seen Spike?”

”What? A big no, and an even bigger, hope I don’t. Why, what’s he done?”

Buffy stared round frantically. How could he vanish so quickly? ”Oh, nothing. I just want to...well, keep any eye on him...in case, you know, evil thing...especially at Christmas, I expect.”

Anya put on her school-teacher face. ”You know, Buffy, there’s really no evidence that vampires and demons are busier at Christmas. We do have families of our own, you know. And everyone likes presents and drinking and feasting – ”

”As long as the feasting isn’t on some one else, Ahn,” broke in Xander. ”So, are you going to join us for frothy coffee and hot chocolate before you go home, Buff?”

”No, I’m going to patrol first. Have fun. If I don’t see you before, I’ll see you on Christmas Day!”

”Okay. And mind how you go. Haven’t you seen all the police everywhere?”

Buffy nodded absentmindedly. ”Yes, I suppose I have. I almost got run over by a cop car earlier. Why, what’s going on?”

”Escaped killer in town, apparently. Being transported to the high security prison and got free when the van broke down. So just watch your step.”

When they’d gone, she wandered along the main street for a while, but as the crowds thinned, there was no sign of Spike. Then, suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she spun round. Vampire! There, inside a shop, she caught a glimpse of blond hair and black leather duster. She sped across to the window and peered inside. Spike was paying at the check-out. Well, at least he wasn’t stealing. Buffy strained her neck to see what it was the girl was packing for him. 

Whisky. Well, that was normal. But there was bread and cheese going into the brown bag. And soup and chocolate and very strong pain killer tablets! Why on earth would Spike need such a lot of normal food? She knew he ate more than any other vampire she’d ever known - he loved cookies - but bread and cheese? And why would he need pain killers? If there was one thing Spike could cope with it was pain. She’d never seen him take any sort of tablet before.

Coming to with a start, she realised Spike had swung away from the check-out and was heading for the door. She spun around to move away but was too slow. He was there - in front of her, raising that silly eyebrow with the scar.

”Slayer. Out doing your Christmas shopping? Left it a bit late, haven’t you, pet. Thought you were on patrol. Or were you waiting for me?”

Buffy bit her lip. ”In your dreams will I ever wait anywhere for you, Spike! I’ve just been... window shopping.” She eyed his packages suspiciously. ”You’ve been buying a lot. Visitors for Christmas?” she said, trying to make a joke. ”Who is it,? Clem? Have you bought him a present?”

Spike frowned and gazed round at the dwindling crowd. She had the strong impression he didn’t want to look her in the eye. ”Visitors? No, no one. And my Christmas shopping was done ages ago, Slayer. How about yours?”

Buffy shrugged as they fell into step, heading back out of town towards the cemetery. ”Not so big on the whole Christmas scene this year. Dawn wants such a lot and the jolly, holly, Santa and reindeer and mulled wine round a log fire gig doesn’t inspire me much.”

”Sounds sad.”

Buffy shot him a dirty look. “Sad? Not at all. Just - grown up. Christmas is for children. Everyone knows that. It’s okay for Dawn to be excited, but me, not so much.”

”So no present for our poofter friend with the bad hair style in Los Angeles?”

Buffy ignored him. She had sent Angel a card, from her and Dawn, wishing him Seasonal Greetings. But no present. Not that she’d bought Spike a present, either, she hastened to remind herself. The little book of English poetry pushed to the back of a drawer was just - a gift for herself, she decided.

“I like Christmas,” said Spike suddenly. ”We used to have a big party on Christmas Day after we‘d been to church. And it always snowed.” He gazed up into the clear, dark, star-littered sky as if searching for a few errant flakes. “Sometimes I miss the English weather,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Buffy thought briefly of the time it had snowed once in Sunnydale, then shut her mind to that and turned back to Spike. ”Are you cooking dinner for Clem?”

They’d reached the door of his crypt and he stopped in his tracks, juggling his packages as he reached for the key in his duster pocket. ”Not tonight, no,” he said briefly. ”I’m...I’m busy tonight.”

Buffy stared at him. He was going to do it again. He was going to shut her out! But why? Well, she certainly wasn’t going to beg.

He opened the door a little, then hesitated. ”I’ve got a little gift for Dawn,” he said casually. ”I take it you won’t want me round on the 25th, so I’ll drop it off tomorrow. Okay with you?”

”Fine,” she said tensely and stood, watching as he gave her a long, hard look and shut the crypt door behind him. 

She heard the lock click, but it wasn’t that noise that she remembered as she turned away. As he’d swung the door wide, she’d heard groans of someone in great pain and smelt the one thing she could recognise anywhere - the sweet tang of blood! Buffy stared at the heavy wooden door, her heart thundering. She couldn’t, wouldn’t believe it, but her senses never lied about blood. Spike had someone in there, someone who was bleeding, someone in pain.

Was he feeding again? No, that was ridiculous. He couldn’t hurt anyone with the chip in his head. And anyway, he was different these days. He said he loved her, she’d slept with him; she had done things with Spike, to him, that .... the words pushed themselves to the front of her mind - oh god, she had feelings for him.

But what if the chip had failed. broken, dechipped itself. Bits of Willow’s computer were breaking down all the time. Had there been some sort of warning that she’d missed? Was it when they’d played with the handcuffs the other night, when he’d fastened her hands together above her head to the leg of a chair and made her come and come and come until she’d dissolved into a screaming, liquid mess that gloried when he’d climaxed inside her, roaring his love and passion into the dark crypt around them. Would the smell of their sex soaked night still linger in the crypt as she imagined it did on her body, no matter how many times she showered?

And if he does have a helpless victim in there, a voice whispered inside her brain, what are you going to do then? ”I’ll have to kill him,” she whispered out loud to the deserted graveyard.

But it wasn’t deserted. Just as she was about to kick down the crypt door, a voice behind her said, ”Now Miss, this is no place for you to be tonight. Cut along home, straight away.”

Buffy swirled round, her hands reaching out to attack. Then she dropped them to her side. It was a policeman, holding a torch. She could see others patrolling through the graveyard, the flashlights swinging through the darkness, looking like a scene from ET.

”What’s going on, officer?”

”Escaped convict, Miss. Very dangerous. I want you to go home and shut all your doors and windows. Talk to no one. Okay.”

Buffy nodded dutifully and drifted away. She watched as the policeman tried the crypt door, shook it, then moved off, obviously satisfied. Why don’t you tell him? she asked herself angrily. Just call out that you think there’s someone in trouble inside that crypt. But she couldn’t. This was between her and Spike. If anyone was going to kill him, it had to be her. 

She cut back across the cemetery, ducked down a back road and dragged aside the covering to one of the sewer entrances. She knew the passage underneath ran back towards the graveyard, and she was pretty sure it was one that Spike used to travel across town during daylight.

”Uggh. Gahh. Smelly!” she moaned as she splashed her way along, but eventually the floor of the passage rose and became dry underfoot. Dim light filtered down occasionally from gratings above her head. Sometimes she could hear people laughing, the rumble of traffic, the wail of a police siren as the hunt for the convict spread out through Sunnydale.

She realised that it was getting very late. It must be Christmas Eve by now. ”Spike owes me a new pair of boots,” Buffy muttered grimly. ”These are the only one’s I’ve got and they’ll never be any use to man, woman or beast again. Why can’t I fight some battles in nice, clean places with nice clean floors. Ice-cream parlours, shopping malls, shoe shops...why is there always gunge and grime and gloop?”

She knew she was rambling, anything to keep her mind off what she was going to find and what she might have to do. She fingered the stake in her jacket pocket. Would she be able to use this on Spike? She’d killed Angel for the sake of the world. But Spike - She tried not to imagine Dawn’s face on Christmas morning. No, sweetie, we can’t take your present round to Spike because I dusted him. He’s gone. He’ll never wear a T-shirt again, black or otherwise. 

”Xander would be pleased,” she whispered. ”He’d probably phone Giles and they could have a big celebration. Tara would be sympathetic, Willow – ” her thoughts ground to a halt as she realised she didn’t know what her oldest friend would think. ”At least I can keep those poems for myself,” she muttered, remembering the little book, the one she’d refused to admit to herself that she’d planned on giving Spike as a gift.

Oh God, Christmas and for every year from now on, would be the anniversary of this final act in their rocky relationship.

”Stupid tunnel, it’s making my eyes water.” Because that was what it was. The dark, dank air. She certainly wasn’t crying. She was the Slayer. She would never cry over a stupid, peroxide blond vampire who had made her believe that perhaps there was one person in the world she could rely on, when she’d always known there wasn’t.

Suddenly there was a dim light shining at the end of the tunnel. ”Which can only be the on-coming train,” Buffy thought dully. She stopped as the smell of blood came wafting towards her and there was the moaning sound again. No, whatever pain this was going to cause her, there was no option, she thought drearily, there never had been. This was her calling, this was why she’d killed Angel, this was what she did, even at Christmas, she killed the man she loved.

Without stopping to think about the words she’d just thought, Buffy leapt forward, stake in hand, and swung round the corner into the underground room of Spike’s crypt.

”Buffy!” Spike was leaning over someone lying on the bed - their bed that they so often didn’t bother to use. Up to the sleeves of his T-shirt, his pale arms were stained in blood.

”Get away from the bed!” Buffy ordered.

”Slayer.“ He stood up slowly, looking at her in disbelief, his blue eyes, shadowed by - if she hadn’t known better, she would have said hurt and a sort of weary resignation. ”Come to kill me, pet?” His voice was sharp, very English and Buffy was reminded of Giles when he was in a temper with her and trying not to show it.

”Just move away, Spike, please.” She was shaking like a leaf. Ridiculous. She never reacted like this when she was hunting.

”Can’t do that, luv.”

Buffy steeled herself to strike, then hesitated. Every Slayer instinct told her to kill him, get it done. What right had she to expect anything but unhappiness? With Spike gone there would be nothing left in her life but grey, unfeeling dreariness. Perhaps that was what she deserved, needed to do her job properly. She’d been neglecting Dawn, ignoring her friends, all because of this man standing in front of her, with an innocent’s blood all over him. She tightened her grip on the stake. Why was she hesitating? She’d loved Angel as deeply as a young girl could, but she’d still pushed her sword deep into his flesh. She’d sent him to hell. Why couldn’t she kill Spike? ”Close your eyes,” she commanded, her mind rocking as the words echoed deep inside her.

Spike gave her a crooked grin. ”Bugger that! Go ahead and do it.”

Buffy felt a strange pride rise up inside her. Against all odds, she was proud of Spike. Because this man would never close his eyes. He would face death with that burning, blazing blue gaze, smiling at her, loving her to the very end. 

A groan from the bed jerked her forward.

”We’ll have to do this later, Slayer. She needs us now,” Spike said softly and turned his back on her.

Puzzled, Buffy peered round him and gasped. Lying on the bed in a tangle of red velvet covers and black silk sheets was a young girl in her late teens. Her dark hair was tangled and matted, her face contorted with pain, but Buffy could see that she was probably very pretty. It looked as if Spike had ripped the skirt of her dress apart. Her legs were splayed open, she was naked underneath.

She was also heavily pregnant and even as Buffy looked, half rose up off the bed, grabbing for Spike’s hand as her next contraction hit her.

 

to be continued


	2. 2  Before I change my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Buffy discovers just what secret Spike has been keeping

Stars in the Bright Sky by Lilachigh

Chapter 2 Before I change my mind

 

It’s Christmas Eve and Buffy gets to discover just what secret Spike is keeping.

 

Without thinking, Buffy reached out and grasped the young girl’s hand as she groaned under her contraction. Then she gently pulled down the remnants of her skirt over her thighs and turned to where Spike sat on the other side of the bed. For a second or two, she couldn’t even find words, then, “Spike, who is she? What the hell is going on? She’s having a baby!”

The vampire raised a rather weary eyebrow at her. “Hey, guessed that all by myself, Jessica Fletcher! It was difficult, but the big stomach, pain, groans, blood - they gave the game away.”

Buffy glared at him, then turned to the girl. “Hey,” she said gently, pushing her dark hair back from her sweaty forehead. “Who are you?’”

The girl squeezed her hand. “Lucy,” she muttered, then shut her eyes as if speaking the one word had been too much to bear.

“Spike, how long as she been like this? We must get her to the hospital.”

“No! No hospital!” The pressure on Buffy’s hand increased seven fold. 

Spike sighed and got up to wring out a wet cloth in a bowl of cool water and lay it on Lucy’s forehead. “That’s all she’s said from the second I found her inside the top crypt when I got home earlier. She’s not only in labour, she’s got some sort of gun shot wound to her arm. I’ve bound that up, but that’s where most of the blood’s come from.”

He turned to look at Buffy, his blue eyes very bright in the dim candlelight . “I haven’t been sampling, if that’s what you were thinking, pet!”

Buffy went very red. She could never tell him what she’d been thinking. She was only too aware of the stake she’d pushed back into her jeans’ pocket. She had been going to kill him, the man she loved, thinking she was saving an innocent from a monster. 

“She was already well along with the labour. I don’t think we’ve got time to get her to the hospital.”

“Well, a doctor, then. I’ll run.”

“No!” The grip came again, strangely powerful for someone who looked so weak. “The police will find me and take me back to prison.”

“The police!” It was as if a light had been turned on. “You’re the dangerous criminal the police are searching for!”

“Yes...oh, god, here it comes again.” Her body writhed as the pain took her again. Buffy stared desperately at Spike.

“She doesn’t look like a criminal. She’s only a couple of years older than Dawn, for heaven’s sake!”

“I don’t look like an evil thing, luv, but that’s what you often call me.”

Lucy came back to them. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but please, please, let me have my baby out of prison. I don’t want it born in jail. That’s why I jumped off the bus taking me to the prison hospital. I want it to be born free. They’re going to take it away from me and I’ll never see it again.”

“What did you do?” Buffy asked, making her more comfortable on the untidy bed and trying hard not to remember the last time she’d been lying there herself, locked in Spike’s arms for hours and hours.

“I shot a guy,” Lucy said briefly, then her face contorted again with the onset of another contraction.

“Spike, those pains are very close together. Do you think - ?”

“I think we’re going to have a baby, Buffy, and soon.”

“But I don’t know anything about having babies!”

He grinned. “Well, I must admit in over a hundred years, I have learnt one or two things about women, but what with them being vampires, not too much about babies!”

Buffy’s head whirled with odd, disjointed thoughts. Hot water, scissors, towels, long ago memories of a class she and Willow had taken together where the teacher had been embarrassed and the kids had got the giggles when the birth process was taught. All they’d really cared about was how you got pregnant in the first place, nor not, to be more accurate. TV programmes where people screamed in pain and then only a couple of minutes later were sitting up in bed, hair neat and tidy, with a pretty little baby lying in their arms, clean and sweet. 

The next hour went past in a dark whirl. Later Buffy knew she could never have done it without Spike. They worked as a team, the other always seeming to know effortlessly what their partner wanted. 

In a little pause, Lucy seemed to doze off. Buffy had the feeling they were on the final lap. She tried to ease her aching shoulders and was grateful to feel Spike’s fingers digging deep into the tense muscles across the back of her neck. “Oh god, that feels great. Do it again. Please.”

“I always like to hear you say that, Slayer.”

Buffy smiled weakly. “Shut up, Spike. I’m too tired to - Just go on doing what you‘re doing and I might survive the next hour.”

“I hope Lucy does.”

Buffy spun round, catching her breath as she realised how close he was standing behind her. “You think she’s in danger?”

Spike shrugged. “She’s young, scared and having her baby in a vampire’s crypt with two inefficient midwives trying to help. She lost a lot of blood when they shot her.”

“So what’s the good news?”

Spike rubbed his thumb down her cheek in a gentle caress. “We're the midwives, pet. Inefficient we might be, but no one dies when we’re in charge - unless we want them to!”

Half an hour later, there was a new sound in Spike’s crypt, one he’d never thought he’d ever hear. The mewling wail of a new born baby.

“It’s a girl!” Buffy sobbed, trying to dash away the tears that were tracing down her face as she wrapped the tiny infant in one of Spike’s bright red towels.

The last few minutes were a complete blur - she vaguely recalled Spike in game face, yelling at Lucy who seemed to have given up, screaming, “Only you can have this baby! Come on, girl, push, push, push!”

And here it was. Tiny, blood smeared, a shock of dark hair and a red face screwed up and cross.

She laid the baby across Lucy’s chest and the girl gazed down at her and Buffy thought she’d never, ever forget the expression on her face. She bit her lip hard. She had no illusions about the life of a Slayer. It was very doubtful if she’d ever experience having children of her own. When she saw how Lucy looked at her daughter, she realised, with a terrible clarity, how big a sacrifice she was making.

Lucy dozed off to sleep and Buffy picked up the baby and crawled up the steps to the upper crypt. Spike had been dealing with the nastier side of childbirth and Buffy ignored the fact that he was absentmindedly sucking blood from a finger. “Look what we did?” she said proudly. 

“How’s Lucy?” he asked softly.

“Sleeping. Here - want to have a look?”

Spike stood about a yard away, put his hands firmly behind his back and peered. “Oh yes. Baby. Looks a bit small. And should she be that ugly? Looks like old pictures of Winston Churchill.”

“She’s absolutely perfect!” Buffy hissed crossly. “Don’t listen to the nasty man, darling. You’re gorgeous, aren’t you?”

Spike gazed at the woman he loved, her tousled blonde hair bent over the baby she was cradling at her breast. He reached forward and laid a gentle hand on the child and they stood together for a long moment, knowing this was as close as he would ever come to complete happiness. He gazed round the crypt, at the darkness, the candles, the cobwebs and stone and smiled grimly to himself. A man, a woman and a baby in a dark hole in the ground. Well, it made sense - it was Christmas.

Buffy looked up and caught the expression on his face. She felt her heart lurch, knowing instinctively what he was thinking. Why did that happen? How could they be so linked that she sometimes knew what he was going to say before he said it. Vampire, she repeated the mantra again, but knew it was no use. The word meant nothing to her where Spike was concerned.

They carried the baby downstairs and Buffy wedged the bundle into the crook of Lucy’s undamaged arm. She was awake now, but looked awful.

“Lucy, I know what it means to you,” Buffy began, “but you simply have to go to the hospital now. I don’t know if we did it right. The birthing thing. What with the scissors and the pushing and....well, you have to let a doctor look at you.”

Lucy kissed the baby’s head. “I know I’ve got to go back to prison. I deserve to. I killed that guy. He was no good, but that’s no excuse, I know that. But, Buffy, I don’t want baby to come with me. I’ve got a sister, lives forty miles the other side of town. I’ll give you her details. Please, Buffy, get the baby to her. She’ll raise her, keep her safe. No one will ever find her there.”

Buffy stared at her. This was madness. She couldn’t take a newborn baby away from her mother and it was Christmas Eve and she should be home and Dawn would be so worried and... And this could be Dawn in a couple of years time, a voice inside her head whispered. If life turned against her in some way. Would you let her down?

“But what will you tell the authorities? They’ll want to know where the baby is?”

Lucy smiled weakly. She gazed up at Spike. “I’ll tell them she was taken by a monster. They’ll believe that.”

“Hey, standing right here,” Spike said edgily, then grinned. “OK by me, luv. Got a bad reputation, anyhow. Not sure if I want to be known for killing babies, but hey, if it keeps Pipsqueak here safe, my shoulders are broad enough to take it.”

Suddenly, from above their heads came a thunderous crashing on the outer crypt door. Buffy could hear shouting, dogs barking. It was the police! They’d come back with bloodhounds and tracked Lucy down.

“You must go!” she gasped. “Look, my sister’s called Rebecca Mason and lives on a farm, Whiteacre. She knows all about the baby. Just take her. Please. Go, go now.”

Spike was already moving towards the back entrance to the crypt. “I’ll push a boulder over the passage once we’re clear,” he said briefly. “Hopefully, once they’ve found you, they won’t look for anyone else.”

Lucy gave the baby a despairing kiss and thrust her at Buffy. “Take her. Now! Before I change my mind!”

“Spike, are we doing the right thing?” Buffy asked as the car the vampire had ‘borrowed’ sped down the highway, out of Sunnydale. She pulled the towel back from the baby’s face. It was no longer red and wrinkled, but smooth and pink. Long dark lashes fanned against her cheeks and one tiny fist was pushed up against her chin, as if she were thinking deep thoughts.

“Still asleep?”

“Yes, thank goodness, but we must get help soon. She’ll need to be fed. Perhaps we should just take her straight to the hospital.”

Spike frowned and his boot went down heavily on the gas pedal. “No, Slayer, we promised Lucy we would take the brat to her sister. It’s up to this Rebecca what she does. But we keep our word. I always keep promises to a lady.”

“Sun’s coming up,” Buffy said, looking to where the bright stars were fading fast as the sky grew pale primrose at the edges. “We have to find shelter for you soon, or else....”

“You don’t have to remind me, pet,” he drawled. “It’s going to be a race. This old jalopy against the sun.”

“Couldn‘t you have stolen something that goes a bit faster?” Buffy snapped.

Spike stole a sideways look at her and if he’d had a heart beat it would have stopped right then and there. She sat, nursing the baby in that automatic way women had the world over. Her hair was a tangled mass of gold and amber, there was a streak of blood down one cheek and her jeans and boots were past saving. But he’d never loved her more than at that moment.

“Haven’t stolen it. It belongs to my mate Clem. He’s away for Christmas, visiting relatives in St Louis. He didn’t want to drive that far in this old crate, so he hitched a ride with a friend. That’s how I got the car, okay? Sorry it isn’t a Ferrari. Next time we have a run in with a pregnant killer and find ourselves kidnapping an infant and avoiding the sodding police, I’ll be sure to do better!”

Buffy shook her head. She’d almost forgotten it was nearly Christmas. “I must phone Dawn and tell her I’m OK. She’ll be frantic.”

Spike frowned. “Good point, Slayer. Can’t have Niblet worried, just because we’ve got Pipsqueak there to look after.”

“She hasn’t even got a name,” Buffy said sadly. “Lucy didn’t tell us what she wanted to call her.”

“Pipsqueak will have to do for now, then,” Spike said and glanced anxiously up at the eastern sky ahead of him. “Sun’s nearly up. Now, where the hell is this farm? We should be nearly there.”

Buffy laid the baby on her lap, shrugged off her denim jacket and draped it over Spike’s head. He touched her hand for a second and flashed her a quick thank you from eyes that were gleaming sapphire in the bright morning air.

The sun was coming up fast as they swerved through open gates next to a sign that read ‘Whiteacres’. The car bounced and jolted up a rutted track and Buffy could hear Spike hissing with pain as he tried to move his hands from the steering wheel as the sun’s rays shot through the windows. He was burning up! Then in front of them lay a scattering of barns and a farmhouse. But Buffy knew they didn’t have time to make it there. She reached over and jerked hard on the wheel. 

“What the hell! “

The car swung sideways, ran through open barn doors and buried its hood in a stack of straw bales with a violent jerk as the engine cut out. Spike lay back in his seat and groaned in relief as the dark shade covered them. “Thanks, Slayer, that was close.”

“Didn’t do it for you, don’t flatter yourself!” Buffy snapped, refusing to let him see how scared she’d been at losing him. “I’ve got to get home before tonight and I need this car - and someone to drive it. You know cars and Buffy are not the best of friends.”

Spike got out of the car and she handed him the baby as she clambered up out of the low, cramped seat. She stood for a moment looking at him. There were burnt patches on his pale hands, but they were holding the little girl with a tenderness she’d never seen before.

Then he glanced up, saw her looking at him, and thrust the bundle at her as if it was soaked in Holy Water. “Bloody hell, Slayer. Here, take Pipsqueak. She’s wet through and smells worse than most demons I’ve known. Get her up to the house to the sister and then we can get the hell out of here.”

“It’s not her, it’s the horses, you idiot!” she snapped, gazing round and realising they weren’t in a barn but a large stable and several interested, four legged inhabitants were watching them. “Hold her for a second. It won’t kill you - well, it wouldn’t, because you’re dead already, but hey, I just want to get tidied up. I’ll scare this Rebecca into the middle of next week, turning up looking like this.”

Buffy dragged her hair back and tied it as tightly as she could with a loose piece of twine she found on the stable floor. She splashed water from the horse trough over her face, grimacing at the scummy feel of it, but at least it was washing away some of the dirt and blood she’d caught sight of in the car’s mirror.

She gazed in despair at her white top. It was splattered with blood and needed to be thrown away. She whipped it off, found her denim jacket still in the car and buttoned it up across her breasts. She wondered if Spike had been peeking, but when she looked round she found he’d retreated deeper inside the stable as the sun rose higher and came flooding in through the doors.

Stepping softly, she moved between the rows of horses, not wanting to spook them. They shifted gently on the straw and one or two snuffled gently as she passed. At the very end of the stable she paused, unable at first to believe what she was hearing, then knowing that she would never, whatever might happen between her and Spike in the future, forget this moment.

There was a voice, Spike’s voice, singing, very, very quietly, almost under his breath:  
“Little baby do not stir, we will lend a coat of fur  
We will rock you, rock you, rock you,  
We will rock you, rock you, rock – “

He stopped abruptly as Buffy sank to her knees next to him and glared at her, daring her to say a word. “Pipsqueak’s beginning to wake up. Didn’t want her making some godawful row and disturbing the horses,’”he said, thrusting the baby at Buffy.

She took her, then crawled forward until she was sitting with her back against Spike’s chest. His arm dropped protectively across them both, and Buffy knew that at last, after all these weeks of being back in the real world, feeling numb, she was experiencing a moment of complete happiness.

“A baby in a stable at Christmas,” Spike murmured above her head. “Well, Goldilocks, unless you want to ring the Scoobies to drive out here to be the Wise Men and Women, I reckon you ought to get her up to the house.”

Buffy bent to kiss the baby. She knew she had to part with her, and soon. The baby needed warmth and a bath and milk. But it hurt so much. She’d never been this close to a newborn before. She knew she’d never have one of her own; a Slayer’s life expectancy meant children were really not an option. “What if this Rebecca is mean to her?” 

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Spike said. “Won’t let anything hurt Pipsqueak, I promise.”

“Do you want to say goodbye?” She held out the baby and for a moment thought he was going to draw back. Then he reached out with one finger and pulled down the dark red towel that was still her only covering.

“Bye, Pipsqueak. Be good and if you meet any odd looking men on dark nights in the future - run like hell!”

He watched as Buffy walked out of the stable, sitting in the straw, his face dark with thoughts he knew he shouldn’t have. It wasn’t bloody fair that this woman should never be a mother. Surely some Slayers had had children. He’d have to get Red to do some research. But even if she did, they wouldn’t be his and the thought of another man making love to her, taking her, seeing her naked, making her scream in passion, forced his game face out and he heard the horses neigh in alarm as they smelt vampire close by.

When she came back to the stable, her arms were empty but there were tear tracks down her face. He wordlessly held out his arms and for once she went straight into them with no holding back. He held her in silence, stroking her hair, then, “All OK?”

“Yes.” Buffy sniffed. “Stupid hay. Making me cry. Rebecca seems really nice and her husband is a sweetie. They were waiting for the baby. Lucy was taken to the prison hospital, but she managed to get one phone call and rang her sister to tell her. I just hope she did it without alerting the authorities.” 

“Is Lucy all right?”

“Yes, as fine as possible, I suppose. She‘s sticking to her story that a monster stole her baby.”

Under her cheek, she heard a rumbling noise and realised Spike was laughing. “Bloody hell, Slayer, I’m going to be the biggest big bad Sunnydale has ever known at this rate.”

“Guess what they’re calling the baby?”

“As long as it’s not Angela, I don’t mind.”

“Marianne. And I borrowed Rebecca’s phone to ring Dawn. She’s okay. Freaked out that I didn’t come home last night, but I told her I was with you and that seemed to calm her down. I said we’d be back as soon as it got dark. She insists you to come to us for Christmas dinner. She’s getting you bull’s blood. It’s supposed to give you strength. Do you need your strength, Spikey?” she teased.

Suddenly Spike pulled her upwards across his lap until their faces were nearly touching, blue eyes blazing, his hands already busy on her sensitive skin under her jacket, “You mean we’ve got all day here, Slayer? On our own?”

She ran her fingers down the length of his fly and began to tease the zip up and down. “Merry Christmas, Spike,” she said. “We’ve got hours and hours, if you want,” she murmured, feeling the strength growing under her hand, glorying in what she could do to him. God, how she wanted him. She didn’t care if it was bad, if good girls shouldn’t want a man in this way. Somehow holding the baby had made her feel so - so sexy. She wanted him inside her, she wanted him to make her come, over and over again.

She giggled. “But if you’re feeling tired, then you can just go to sleep. I’ll cover you with straw.”

“You talk too much, luv. I’ll find you something better to do with that mouth of yours. Oh yes. You’ve no idea how much you’re going to learn to do in the next few hours.” He swung her into his arms and carried her up a ladder into the hay loft in two bounds. Then he bent his head and kissed her, his tongue finding hers, plundering, demanding, until she felt she could no longer breathe.

He tugged at the twine holding her hair back, pulling it free until it cascaded down around her face. She slid her hands under his T-shirt, digging her nails into his back. He rolled her over onto her back, kicking off his boots, tearing off his jeans, then hers. And the last coherent thought she had as his hard cold body drove her up and over the edge into delirium for the first time that day, was ‘please, oh God, please let this be the longest Christmas Eve ever.’

tbc

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.


	3. Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy and Spike are spending Christmas Eve together and they're certainly not making paper-chains!

Stars in the Bright Sky

by Lilachigh

 

Chapter 3 Sacrifices

 

Buffy burrowed deeper into the straw and moaned. She ached all over. The naked leg that was lying across hers was lifted away, but Spike’s arm found it’s way possessively across her shoulders. “You awake, Slayer?”

“No, I’m dead! What have you done to me?” She could sense he was smiling and wished she had the energy to punch him, but all her muscles had turned to jelly and she didn’t think she would ever walk again.

“That’s what happens when you shag for seven hours without a rest. And anyway, I’m not feeling one hundred per cent either. You have that effect on a bloke.”

”Seven hours!” Buffy moaned again. “How many times did we.....?”

”Rather lost count, sweetheart. I know you screamed a lot and I had to stop you. You were frightening the horses.”

Buffy threw off his arm and sat up, the memories rushing back in glorious Technicolour. “Oh God, did anyone hear me? What about Rebecca and her husband? Didn’t anyone come to look after the horses? Oh god!”

Spike lay on his back and stretched luxuriously, giving her a full view of all she’d been feasting on all the long day. “I heard someone come in to fill up their hay racks and water troughs. But you had a mouthful of - well, you had a mouthful at that time, so you weren’t making a noise!”

Buffy slapped away the hand that he’d reached up to her breast. “Pig. Double pig! Honest to god, Spike, one of these days, you’ll push me too far.”

He reached up, grabbed her arm and pulled her down on top of him. “I can push into you as far as I like, and as far as you like, pet. You know it, and I know it. Stop pretending you don’t like it. Seven hours tells me otherwise."

She knew she should throw him off, knew she had the strength to do so, but didn’t. That was half the problem. With the others she’d slept with - except for Angel - she’d had to be so careful not to hurt them. She knew Riley had tried his hardest to get fitter and stronger, because he knew she was holding back. With Angel, it had all been so tentative, so new, she had hardly moved anyway. But with Spike, she knew she could do anything to him and it wouldn’t hurt - much! 

When she came to again, it was considerably darker in the stable. Spike was pulling on his jeans. “Better get going, pet,” he said. “Dawn will be waiting for you. And it’s Christmas Day soon.”

Buffy sighed and began searching for her jeans. She screwed up her nose when she found them. They were stiff with dirt and blood smears. She found where Spike had tossed her denim jacket and buttoned it across her breasts.

”I’m going up to the farm to check on Marianne,” she said. She hoped the baby girl was OK. She wondered how Lucy was getting on, the young mother who was no doubt back in prison now. Buffy could only imagine how much she would be missing her baby. It had been so incredibly brave of Lucy to give her up, but at least she knew she was with her sister, not a stranger.

They’d driven several miles before they spoke. Buffy had climbed into the car, slamming the door. She’d stared out of the widow, poker-faced, as they left the farm. At last Spike glanced sideways at his companion. “Everything OK?”

Buffy sighed. “Yes. Marianne’s fine. She’s had a feed and a bath. She even looks bigger!”

She relapsed into silence, until Spike took his unlife into both hands and prompted her, “Why the long face, then?”

Buffy bit her lip. How could she possibly tell Spike that seeing Rebecca with the baby had made her realise all over again that this was not the sort of life a Slayer could ever expect.

“Sacrifices, luv,” Spike said quietly above the hum of the engine. ‘You make them all the time, and no one ever knows.”

She turned to look at him. How did he know what she was thinking? It was uncanny how he was always around when she was miserable, and even weirder that he always seemed to know what was troubling her. “Comes with the Slayer territory,” she said. “But on the plus side, I get to hit you a lot!”

“And other things,” he retorted and was rewarded with a little grin.

When they drove up to Buffy’s home, Dawn came rushing down the path to the car. She’d obviously be watching out for them. “Buffy! Spike! Where on earth have you been? Oh gross, Buffy, you smell - urgh - like a very bad drain. Don’t touch me!” she squealed, as Buffy went to give her a hug. “I don’t want that smell on my clothes. Go and have a shower, quick. And wash your hair. You’ve got - is that straw? - in it. How on earth - no never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Buffy turned to Spike who was still sitting in the car. “Well, thanks for the ride home. Are you coming in?”

“No. Reckon I’d better get back to the crypt and see what sort of state it’s in after the long and clumsy arms of the law have been at work there.”

“You are coming for Christmas dinner, though, aren’t you, Spike?” Dawn asked anxiously. “I went out and got blood specially. And I’ve got you a present.”

Spike hesitated. He was astonished to discover just how much he wanted to accept, to be part of this little family - just for one day. But he could sense the tension that had crept over the Slayer. Her shoulders had stiffened and her face had become expressionless. So, nothing much had bloody well changed. She didn’t want him socialising with her friends. Even after what they’d gone through today: Lucy, Pipsqueak, their time in the barn, her stupid pride was still stopping her admitting to Xander and Willow that she was going with him.

He sighed. He wouldn’t complain. If anyone needed a relaxing time off from stress, she did and having to referee between himself and the boy would not be a good way of spending Christmas Day. She wasn’t the only person who had to make sacrifices, he thought.

“Niblet, that sounds great,” he said cheerfully. “And I’ve got a present for you, too. But I’ll have to come round in a couple of days to collect and deliver. I’m...I’m...well, me and my mate, Clem, are going away for Christmas. Some friends of his are having a big party. In fact, this is his car and I’m going straight round to his place to pick him up.”

Dawn’s face fell. “Oh - oh, well that sounds like fun, I suppose. At least you won’t be on your own.”

”I’ll be in touch soon,” he promised and started the engine. “Happy Christmas, Dawn.” He realised Buffy hadn’t said a word about his plans and he fought back the feeling of hurt that raced over him. She knew damn well Clem was away in St Louis. ”And a very happy Christmas to you, Slayer,” he said gently, and before she could reply, he drove away.

* * * * *

 

“I think I’m going to be ill!” Xander collapsed on the sofa and groaned, clutching his stomach. “Yes, definitely very ill.”

“Well, far be it for me to criticise, sweetie, but you have just eaten the biggest Christmas dinner I have ever seen in all my hundreds of years of life, plus four plates of ice-cream,” said Anya, sitting next to him and ruining her nagging with a gentle burp.

”That was a delicious meal, Buffy,” Tara said warmly.

Willow nodded and flung herself down onto the rug in front of the fireplace. “I feel like one of those animals you see on wild-life films, a big snake or a lioness who’s just eaten an antelope or – ” She stopped, aware of the horrified silence in the room. “Okay, big snake not a good comparison. But hey, full here! Brain not working quite so well.”

Buffy laughed. “I’m glad you all enjoyed it.” It had been a good Christmas so far, except - she pushed the thought of Spike to one side. It had been a good Christmas, full stop. They’d eaten and drunk and laughed and told silly jokes. Even Dawn had been happy, delighted with all her presents, and with the energy of the young, had skipped off to visit her friend Janice after the meal.

“And if I’d invited Spike, it wouldn’t have been so happy,” Buffy consoled herself. “He and Xander would have sniped at each other, the atmosphere would have been very non-Christmassy, so I did completely the right thing in not inviting him. Anyway, he might have let slip about Lucy and Marianne, and I don’t think the others should know, just in case the police come round asking at some stage about missing babies!”

She switched on the TV and the room grew quieter as one by one they fell asleep, Willow and Tara curled up like puppies, Anya lying with Xander’s head on her lap. But Buffy couldn’t relax. She watched Jimmy Stewart on the screen, then flicked channels. The last thing she needed today was to listen to anything about angels! She prowled round the house, putting away dishes, tidying. She changed out of her best Christmas outfit and pulled on a pair of jeans and an old lacy top: it was time to patrol.

She sat brushing her hair before tying it back in a tight knot. She hesitated, then pulled open the drawer where she kept her underwear. Right at the back was a small book shaped parcel. She pulled it out and sat holding it for a long minute. It was the book of poetry she’d bought at a garage sale a couple of weeks ago. She‘d told herself if was a little Christmas present for herself, or maybe she would send it to Giles, but she knew she was only pretending. She’d bought it for Spike.

But here it was, still in the house and Christmas Day was almost over. She bit her lip hard because in her head she could hear her mom’s reproachful voice saying,”you seem to have lost the spirit of Christmas, Buffy. Surely it‘s all about giving.”

Spike had given all he could to help Lucy and Marianne, or Pipsqueak as he insisted on calling the baby girl. He hadn’t waited to be asked, he’d just done what needed to be done.

Buffy gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t behaving like the sort of daughter Joyce would have been proud of. She felt ashamed. She should have been brave enough to have done what Dawn wanted; invited Spike to have Christmas dinner with them. Xander and the others would have coped, one way or the other. And if they couldn’t - then that would have been their problem.

“Well, he might not have come, anyway,” she muttered. “OK, Clem’s away, but he has other demon friends. I’m sure he’ll be having a far better time there than sitting watching old movies on our TV.”

But she knew that if her mother had still been alive, she would have insisted Spike came round to share in their family Christmas celebrations. She’d have heated up his blood for him, cooked him spicy chicken wings, found out what sort of ice-cream he liked best, even got some whisky for him to drink. There was no getting away from the fact - her mother had liked Spike, enjoyed his company.

Buffy made a decision and sprang up. “I’ll just go up to the crypt and leave the parcel,” she thought. “He won’t be back yet, if at all today. I can’t imagine any demon party finishing in less than two or three days! He’ll probably think it came from Dawn. I’ll mention it to her when she gets in. She’s got that T-shirt for him. We can say the poetry book is a little extra, from the Summers family, not just from me.”

Downstairs, the Scoobies were still fast asleep, the TV on low. Buffy scribbled, ‘Gone patrolling,’ on a scrap of paper and lodged it in Xander’s hand.

It was quite chilly for Sunnydale. The streets were empty, only the occasional car speeding past. Buffy stared into the brightly lit windows as she passed, envying the warmth and laughter that she heard, people who could stay together for the whole of Christmas Day and didn’t have to patrol round eerie graveyards, killing things.

A light mist drifted through the cemetery. One lone vampire, wearing a very fetching tinsel garland, leapt out from behind a tomb, determined to do battle. Buffy staked him without even breaking stride. “Nice decoration!” she said admiringly as he dissolved.

When she reached Spike’s crypt, she hesitated. She knew he wasn’t there, but it felt odd going in on her own. It was still his home and although she’d kicked down the door many times, she’d always known he was inside, waiting for her, so that was different. When he was away, it seemed like an invasion of privacy. The door wasn’t locked. She smiled as she turned the handle. The last time she’d been here, Spike had locked it against the police and she’d found Lucy lying in the lower chamber, just about to give birth. But now the door swung open and she walked into the crypt, ready to leave the book on the first available surface and go home.

And she froze. The crypt wasn’t empty. Spike was lying back in a chair, fast asleep, a half empty whisky bottle on the ground at his side. He was dressed but might as well have been naked for the effect he had on her. His feet were bare, and his red shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, as were the top buttons of his jeans. She could see dark hairs glinting against his pale skin where the denim parted and the recollection of the wiry rub of those curls against her made every nerve in her body stand up and shriek.

She gazed round. There were a couple of empty packets of pig’s blood on the table, cigarette packets scattered around - all empty. The TV was off and there was no sign of any friends. She knew then that he’d lied: there had been no party. He’d spent Christmas Day on his own, when he could have been with her and Dawn. And she also knew why. He’d known that Xander and Willow would be uncomfortable with him there, would make cheap jibes. He hadn‘t wanted her and Dawn to have an unhappy Christmas Day.

She was going to kill him!

In two strides she was at his side and hit him hard on his head with the poetry book. “Wake up, you stupid, blood-eating vampire. You, stupid” - thud – “idiotic” - whack – “moron!”

Spike yelled and slid to the floor, his arms up to cover the platinum hair that was being beaten into a tangled riot of curls. “Bloody hell, Slayer. What the soddin’ hell do you think - Oi - stop that. Stop it!” He reached out and grabbed the book from her hand, tossing it to one side. She still beat at him with her fists until he grabbed them both in his hands and pulled her down on top of him. “I said stop it! What is this, beat up Spike for Christmas time? Have you run out of board games up at Casa Summers?”

“You make me so mad!”

Spike growled as he felt her nipples stiffen beneath the lacy top and rub against his bare chest. “And randy?” he murmured.

“No!” she yelled, trying to pull away, and wondering why she was kicking off her boots as she spoke and feverishly trying to grind her pelvis against his. “I’ve got no intention of ever having sex with you again, you idiot!” she moaned and watched as her lying hands pulled his zipper all the way down.

“For heavens sake, shut up, Slayer,” Spike snapped. “Stop talking and use your mouth for what it was intended!” He pulled her closer, kissing the soft skin under her ear. “God, you taste so good. I’d like to lick you all over. You taste marvellous. Sweet, like honey.”

When she came round, she was lying on the stone floor, her jeans jammed under her shoulders, Spike’s head pillowed on her stomach. “Happy Christmas, Slayer,” he murmured faintly. “Now are you going to tell me why you were hitting me?”

She traced the line of his jaw with her finger. ”You could have come to us for Christmas. Dawn invited you.”

”But you didn’t want me.”

“I didn’t want you to be on your own,” she whispered. “Not at Christmas.”

Spike sat up and looked at her. “You’re here now,” he said simply.

Buffy sat up too, hugging her knees to her chin. “Does that count?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Bloody hell, don’t go all philosophical on me, Goldilocks.”

Buffy glared at him, then began pulling on her jeans, searching for the lace top, hoping above hope that it wasn’t in tatters, because going home without it was going to be mega embarrassing.

“You off then, Slayer? What a surprise.”

She stood looking down at him. Didn’t he have any idea how much she wanted to stay? That with him everything was so simple and straightforward. She didn’t have to be cheerful and brave, if she didn’t want to be. Didn’t have to worry about money, lead the gang, kill demons, fret about people’s feelings. All she had to do with him was live. ”Dawn will be home from Janice’s soon. I have to be there for her tonight. I’m sorry, Spike.”

He sighed, got up, pulled on his jeans. “Okay, I can live with that. There is no way I want to spoil Niblet’s Christmas.” He pushed the hair back from her eyes: the band holding it up had long broken - and kissed her gently. “Hey, give her this, will you.”

He reached behind a stone bench and produced a carrier bag. ”Christmas gift.”

“She’ll be thrilled. Thank you.” Buffy turned to go. “Oh, by the way, I was hitting you with yours!” and she smiled as she slipped away. She turned in the doorway to watch him busily tearing off the now battered wrapping paper from the poetry book, his whole face illuminated by pleasure. For a second or two, the evil killer, the thing who she knew she should treat with disgust and disdain, looked like a little boy on Christmas Day, opening his parcels.

Buffy was still smiling at the expression on his face when she reached home. Somewhere a clock was striking midnight. Christmas Day was officially over for another year. She wondered what they’d all be doing next year. Would she even be alive then? Slayers learnt to live from day to day and she had no idea what tomorrow would bring.

Indoors, Dawn was home, chatting to the others. “Hey, Buffy. Good patrol? You look exhausted. Lots of vamps out tonight, I bet.”

“Hey, Dawnie. Yes, enough. I - er - I bumped into Spike. He sent you this.”

“Captain Peroxide has sent Dawn a present! Oh great. Probably someone’s entrails,” said Xander peevishly.

Dawn pulled out a squashy parcel with a squeal and tore off the paper to find what Buffy considered a perfectly hideous purse, but which was obviously the very latest in fashion considering her sister’s exclamations of delight.

“There’s another present,” Anya said curiously.

Buffy pulled out a small round package. There was no label and it was wrapped in a plain brown bag. “Looks like Spike’s grocery shopping,” Xander said with a laugh. “Well, he can just go without it, whatever it is, because you’re certainly not going back with it, Buffy, and nor is anyone else here.”

Buffy nodded absent-mindedly, then pulled the paper off the second parcel. She turned away from the others and muttered something about going to bed, very tired, long patrol, goodnight. She raced upstairs and threw herself on her bed. She lay there in the dark, waiting for the sounds of Xander and Anya leaving, Willow, Tara and Dawn coming upstairs, saying goodnight, whispering in case they disturbed her.

As the night fell silent, she listened for the sounds of boots scraping on the trellis outside her window, the creak of boots in her room, the scent of cigarette smoke and leather, and a whisper in her ear of, “Well. Slayer, have you any ideas of what to do with my gift?”

And she smiled. A jar of honey could go a long, long way.

ends.

 

Happy Christmas to everyone.


End file.
